


The Only One He Sees

by monday7112



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alley Sex, Community: fandom_fridays, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Unrequited Love, Voyeurism, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-13
Updated: 2010-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:45:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monday7112/pseuds/monday7112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever Sam enters a room, Castiel forgets about everyone else but him. It’s a phenomenon he calls the Sam effect and he’s utterly helpless to resist it. Sam feels the same way...about Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only One He Sees

**Author's Note:**

> Written for week #17 at [](http://community.livejournal.com/fandom_fridays/profile)[**fandom_fridays**](http://community.livejournal.com/fandom_fridays/). I've had this fic kicking around in my head since almost the first time I heard Jason Manns' "Beautiful View" and this week's prompt seemed like the perfect excuse to FINALLY finish it.

Dean’s default setting is anxious. He does his best to hide it, of course, but it’s there, just below the surface. Anyone who knows Dean is aware of that nervous energy even if they can’t quite put their finger on what it is. His eyes constantly dart around, aware of everyone and everything in the room, calculating who might be a risk, which escape route would work best and what items laying within his grasp make the best weapons should it come down to a fight. He can’t control it, isn’t even aware of it Castiel guesses. But it’s there, vibrating under the surface even as he cracks jokes or makes an offhand remark. It’s even worse when Sam’s not with him. He looks at his watch more, checks his cell to see if he’s missed a call, scans the room twice as often to see if his brother has finally, at last, reappeared from wherever he might have gone, even if it was just to the bathroom.

Tonight, though, Dean’s anxiety is in overdrive. They’d separated on a hunt earlier in the day and while Castiel met up with him an hour ago, Sam still hasn’t called. Dean checks his phone again, the fifth time in as many minutes. Castiel can’t blame him, though. He’s feeling the same way.

“Dean, I’m sure Sam is fine,” he offers, as much for his own peace of mind as Dean’s, but Dean ignores him, grabbing the shot the bartender just set in front of him and tossing it back. Castiel does the same with the six he’s just ordered.

“He was just going to the library to research,” Castiel reminds him. “He’ll be here soon.” Still, he can’t stop himself from looking at the clock, either.

Dean pulls out his phone again, checks it, dials Sam’s number this time. Castiel isn’t even aware he’s holding his breath, praying to the Father he can’t find that Sam answers, that Sam’s okay. Sam doesn’t pick up, though and Dean slams the phone down with disgust but doesn’t take his hand off it so that he can snap it up in case Sam calls. He grabs another shot with his free hand. Sam should have been here by now.

Castiel's working on downing another round of six shots when he feels it—the tension is gone. He looks over and sees that Dean’s stopped scanning the room and the hand holding the phone has relaxed, allowing it to rest on the counter. The hum of nervous energy which had been so loud just a second ago has now dialed back down to a low buzz. What little awareness Dean had of the fact that Castiel’s sitting next to him is gone, as is his awareness of everyone else in the bar. As far as Dean is concerned, he and Sam are the only two people in the room right now. Relief, affection, desire, even the tiniest hint of irritation at Sam for not calling, for making them wait—flash across his eyes and Castiel thinks he knows the feeling. All of them.

Castiel glances up now, his eyes automatically following Dean’s and lock on Sam. And just like Dean a moment ago, everyone else in the room disappears, including the man standing next to him who had to that point been taking up all of his attention. Like Dean, the only person Castiel sees right now is the younger Winchester. Happens every time Sam walks into a room; it’s a phenomenon he calls the Sam effect and he’s utterly helpless to resist it.

Sam hasn’t seen them yet, he’s looking around, taking a mental inventory. Like Dean, it’s the first thing he does when he walks into the room, a habit neither of them even realized they’d picked up from their father, who had learned the hard way to always know who was in the room with you before you sat down for a drink. But when his eyes land on Dean, he stops, not even looking around for Castiel to see if he’s with Dean. Castiel tries to pretend he isn’t disappointed that he’s so completely off of Sam’s radar that he doesn’t even wonder if he made it back to the bar safely. It’s something he should be used to by now.

Sam’s beautifully full lips twitch into a smile at the sight of his brother and he comes bounding across the bar, hair flipping every which way, eyes dancing with a level of enthusiasm that only Sam can muster and it’s reserved entirely for…Dean. Castiel sighs and turns around, finishing the rest of the shots sitting in front of him and motioning to the bartender for more knowing full well it’s not going to come anywhere close to taking the edge off of the sting. It’s never bothered him before that alcohol doesn’t have the same effect on him that it has on humans but tonight he finds himself wishing he could get drunk. If ever he needed to drink something away, the younger Winchester is it.

He doesn’t need to turn around again to know Sam’s made it across the bar and is now standing beside Dean. Also doesn’t need to look in order to know that Dean’s hidden away every emotion from Sam except irritation and is about to lay into him about common courtesy and answering his phone and calling when he’s going to be late.

Sam doesn’t need to look, either. He knows Dean, better even than Castiel does which is saying a lot since there isn’t a person on earth Castiel knows better than Dean—though there is one he’d like to get to know better. He’s fully aware that he should have called, Castiel hears Sam telling Dean, but he got too caught up in the research he was doing and hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. Dean makes some sort of crack about Sam reaching a new level of nerdiness but more relevant to Sam are the words he isn’t saying, doesn’t have to say because Sam knows with just one glance. Sam’s answering look is a sincere apology, a promise to make it up to him later, the silent speech between the two of them so loud that it feels deafening to Castiel.

Castiel again motions at the bartender, who raises his eyebrow but sets out six more shot glasses and starts filling them. He turns around just in time to see Sam switch on the puppy dog eyes, lean in close to Dean and whisper something in his brother’s ear. Just like that, Dean’s irritation is gone and Castiel finds himself astounded at how easily Sam can handle his brother when he wants to, knows just what to say and which buttons to push. A rush of emotion surges through Castiel, shocking him with its intensity. He recognizes the emotion as jealousy and does his best to push it down, forget it’s there.

Dean’s smiling back, one hand resting lightly against Sam’s as he turns and waves for the bartender’s attention. While he’s ordering Sam a drink, Sam finally notices Castiel’s standing there. “Good to see you, Cas,” he says with a grin.

The sound of Sam’s voice coupled with his gorgeous smile sends all of the blood in Castiel’s brain rushing southward and the only response he can muster is “You too.”

His voice sounds hoarse and ridiculous even to his own ears. Sam cocks his head and considers him for a second but then Dean’s turning around with his drink and once again Sam’s attention is all focused entirely on Dean.

“So, what’d you find out at the library?” Dean asks. He’s switched to tap beer now and he takes a swig from the glass.

Sam throws back the shot Dean ordered for him and sets the glass down on the counter. “Can it wait until tomorrow?” he asks, the intent and the look in his eyes clear and Castiel can’t help but wish it was him that Sam was looking at like that. Sam doesn’t want to talk shop, doesn’t even want to stay at the bar, just wants to get Dean somewhere that isn’t quite so loud. The motel room, maybe but even that’s not necessary. The Impala or anywhere else they can be alone without prying eyes—and an angel—keeping watch works.

Dean nods his agreement and sets down his drink. “If it’s all right with you, we’re going to turn in for the night,” Dean says to Castiel like he has any say in the matter. Castiel starts the line of shots.

“You should stay and have some fun, though,” Sam adds, almost like he’s feeling a bit guilty for rushing off. Castiel knows that’s just wishful thinking, though. For Sam to feel guilty, he’d have to have some sort of feelings for the angel beyond tolerance for Dean’s sake.

Dean laughs at Sam’s statement. “Right. Cas. Fun. Those two things go well together.” Castiel pretends to smile as he tosses back two more. “You’ll be all right?” Dean asks then, because even if Sam’s his world, he still cares about Castiel.

Castiel nods. “Yes,” he says, motioning toward the dartboard. “I’ve always been curious about that game. I might try playing.” Really, he has no intention of staying in the bar for even a minute after the two Winchesters leave but he’s not about to tell Dean that. Dean means well but he’ll try to hook him up with some random girl that he thinks would be a good time if he weren’t with Sam and Castiel just isn’t in the mood to pretend he’s interested.

Dean takes another swig of his beer, guzzling the liquid remaining in the cup and then stands up. “Well, don’t have too much fun, Cas. We’ll catch up with you in the morning, okay?”

Castiel nods, mumbles something that resembles goodbye and tries not to watch as they leave. It’s impossible as long as Sam’s in his line of vision. He watches the brothers walk away, Sam’s arm draped around Dean’s shoulders, Dean’s hand resting lightly at the small of Sam’s back and wonders what it’s like to have someone love you the way Dean loves Sam; wonders what it’s like to have Sam love you the way he does Dean.

“I thought he was with you,” a female voice next to him says.

Castiel watches until the door shuts behind them, obscuring Sam from his view then turns and stares at her. “No,” he bites out tersely before picking up the last shot. “He’s with Sam.”

The woman’s eyes light up in understanding. “The tall one,” she says and there’s a hint of sympathy in her voice. “So then, you in love with…Sam, was it?”

Castiel pauses mid-drink and sets the shot back down. “Love?” he asks. He’s never really thought of his feelings for Sam in terms of human emotions before. Love, lust, what does it matter how he feels? All that matters is that Dean _is_ in love with Sam. If Castiel was with Sam it would mean that Dean was not and well, he’s seen Dean without Sam before, seen Dean after Sam’s broken his heart, seen how Dean loses himself completely when he doesn’t have Sam to keep him focused. He could never do that to his friend, no matter how strong his feelings for Sam might be. His only option is to simply enjoy whatever part of Sam that Dean is willing to share.

He suddenly realizes the woman is still staring at him, so he shrugs. “Never thought about it,” he answers then stands up to leave. He’s not two steps from the bar when the bartender’s in his face.

“You haven’t paid yet,” he says and while he’s smiling like he knows it was just a mistake, there’s a threat lying just below the surface.

Castiel pulls out the wallet Dean gave him awhile back for use when he’s “acting human” and throws all the bills in it on the counter. Dean will holler at him later for it but he doesn’t care. “Keep the change,” he says, returning the wallet to his pocket and heading for the door. He needs some fresh air.

Once outside Castiel turns the corner and slips into the shadows of the alley out back, contemplating his options. Typically when he’s working a hunt with the brothers he spends the night in their motel room, sitting quietly in the corner and counting the hours until morning. He tells Dean it’s because he wants to stay close in case either Zachariah or Lucifer somehow manage to find them but the truth is that he wants to be near Sam. He loves to watch him sleep, the tension gone from his face, his mouth occasionally twitching into a smile at whatever dream he might be having. Castiel likes to think it’s him Sam’s dreaming about whenever that happens but he knows better. It’s Dean. It’s always Dean. Sometimes Sam will even tell Dean about it in the morning. Oh, no details. Just “I dreamt about you last night” with that look on his face that left no room to misinterpret his meaning.

And then there are the nights Sam’s sleep is anything but peaceful, when his face is contorted with a blend of fury and fear. Those nights, Castiel knows that Lucifer is visiting Sam in his dreams, can feel his presence even though he’s not physically in the room with them. He can’t get inside Sam’s dreams on those nights to help, Lucifer blocks his access, but he can rest a hand on Sam’s forehead which seems to calm him at least a little. Castiel has no idea whether or not Sam remembers Lucifer’s visits. He doesn’t say anything to Dean about them if he does and he certainly doesn’t talk to Castiel about it. Still, it’s the closest Sam allows him and he takes it gladly. As far as he’s concerned, the view from the corner of the motel room is a beautiful one.

But tonight that option was out. Dean had clearly said “We’ll catch up with you in the morning” which means he isn't welcome tonight. He begins walking down the alley, not really sure where to go to while away the hours until morning arrives and with no real destination in mind. The sound of heavy breathing along with a muffled moan pulls him up short and he slips back into the shadows, turning toward the sound. He’s prepared for just about anything—angels, demons, drunken humans looking for an easy mark. Anything, that is except what he finds. The moonlight filtering through the clouds provides just enough light for him to recognize that Sam’s pressed up against the wall of the building opposite where he’s standing. Castiel tenses, trying to make out what’s got Sam and whether or not Dean is nearby when he hears Sam moan “Fuck, Dean”.

His head snaps up, eyes darting back to Sam. The younger Winchester's eyes are closed, the noises he's making from pleasure not pain. He feels his cock harden instantly, straining against his pants. A dumpster obscures Dean from his view but it doesn’t much matter. He knows what’s happening. Sam opens his eyes and looks down, another moan escaping his lips as he writhes against the wall.

Castiel swears under his breath, trying to force himself to leave but he can’t look away from Sam’s face; can’t stop himself from imagining that he’s the one making Sam look like that. Without taking his eyes off of Sam he reaches down and undoes the button of his pants and slides down the zipper, releasing his aching cock and caressing it softly. “Don’t…stop,” Sam begs. “Fuck…”

Castiel flicks his thumb across the head, and rubs the slit then slides his hand up and down his shaft, tightening his grip. His movement quickens as he thinks about taking Sam in his mouth, tasting him, possessing him in that intimate way that only Dean’s allowed. He stops himself from crying out Sam’s name just as his mouth opens to let out the sound and instead drops his hand, trying to regain control of himself. This is wrong. He knows it’s wrong.

But even as he thinks it his eyes are drawn to Sam again. Sam who’s now pressing the palms of his hand against the wall above his head, fingers digging in, whimpered moans escaping from his lips. He can see Sam’s hips moving, writhing against the ministrations of his brother’s mouth. Castiel swears again, wonders what the hell is wrong with him that he can’t leave and yet his hand returns to his cock, tightens around it and jerks. This time it’s Sam’s mouth he’s imagining, the thought of Sam tasting _him_ , possessing _him_ pushing him rapidly to the edge as Sam’s crying out “Dean…oh God, oh fuck, Dean!”

Castiel shudders, coming against his hand as pleasure rolls over his body. He can’t stop himself from letting out a soft moan and Sam’s head jerks up, his eyes searching the darkness. Castiel again curses under his breath, his thoughts racing as he prepares to vanish before the brothers come looking for the source of the sound. And although he’s sure that Sam can’t possibly see him—he’s entirely hidden in the shadows—he could swear that their eyes lock across the alley, Sam’s widening slightly in surprise, just before he closes his own and disappears into the night.


End file.
